


Rhythm of the Heart

by RedFox13



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls III
Genre: Ambitious But Rubbish, Beginnings, Dancing, F/M, First Meetings, Implied/Referenced Abuse, One Shot, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:08:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25059775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedFox13/pseuds/RedFox13
Summary: Every night she would practice in the Cathedral, and every night he would watch.
Relationships: Dancer of the Boreal Valley/Vordt of the Boreal Valley (Dark Souls)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 24





	Rhythm of the Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by Magic & Moonlight by the band Nox Arcana.

The nights of Irythyll were frigid cold yet beautiful. The deep blue sky glistened like the sea as stars danced across it. Shimmering auroras weaved vibrant colors around the tallest spires of the old cathedral. And a large, crescent moon tinted in hues of blue and violet watched over it all.

Down below in the city a lone knight carried out his patrol. His armor crackled with every step as tendrils of mist rolled off of him. On his shoulder rested a large mace, it had been touched by the same frost as his armor. Vordt loved the silence of the night, and so often he volunteered for the night patrols to be away from the Pontiff and his pompous saint Aldrich. Once in a while he would cross paths with Gwyndolin, God of the Darkmoon. And he would greet them with a courtly bow, for they were one of the few people in the city he could tolerate.

The peace and stillness of the dark gave him a chance to breathe. For just a while he could simply be Vordt of the Boreal Valley, and not Vordt the Outrider Knight. The Pontiff's Knights looked down on him and scoffed, but he didn't care. He could easily slaughter them, but they weren't worth the effort. Just then as he ascended the steps to the Cathedral he passed one by. They promptly turned and sauntered away at his approach. Good, didn't want to see you anyway. He thought.

Stepping inside he noticed first the heavy silence and the scent of holy incense. Then he saw her.... Kneeling before the raised dais that led to the courtyard was the Pontiff's Dancer. Her golden armor clung to her slender frame like a pair of gilded shackles, a long ethereal veil trailed behind her in the faint breeze as if it was a haunting reminder of her once noble status. Her helmet sat snugly on her head, her visor looked like the bars of a cage. She was free to roam the city, but she was forever ensnared in the Pontiff's cold grasp.

At first he thought she was praying and he was about to turn and leave so as not to disturb her. But then she slowly rose from the floor and began to dance. Every step flowed into each other, every twirl gracefully executed, her gestures and movement of her body conveyed a deep sadness. It was far from the sharp, mechanical, lifeless performances he'd witnessed at the Pontiff's feasts. Vordt was not one to be moved emotionally, in fact he was known as stoic and frigid. But as the dance came to an end the way the Dancer went to her knees and hugged herself, nearly curling in on herself was enough to make him cry.

He knew misery well, and to see it in one who was a heavenly child was heartbreaking. Before he even realized it he was walking towards her, his footsteps echoing loudly in the empty space. As he reached the middle her head whipped over her shoulder to look at him. He watched her tense then spring to her feet and dash out of the cathedral. She was wickedly fast and by the time he reached the balcony she was long gone.

As the first rays of sunlight graced the land he returned to his chambers. Tried as he might sleep eluded him, the memory of the Dancer still playing out before him as he closed his eyes. He had to see her again, he wanted to see her dance again.

............................

A week later he was on patrol again and he found her in the cathedral. This time he stood idly by a column, resting his weapon on the floor. He watched her, enthralled by her otherworldly grace. Every movement he analyzed and committed to memory, then when her dance came to an end he would quietly leave. If he chased her again it was unlikely she would return.  
Back in the privacy of his chambers he would attempt to mimic her dance step by step. He lacked her precision and practiced step, and he felt like a bloody fool every time he saw himself in his mirror. Ever since he first saw her he wanted to befriend her, but he knew she feared the Outrider Knights. So why not try to reach her through a language she spoke so eloquently?

Every night she would practice in the cathedral, and every night he would watch. She never gave any sign that she knew he was there, but slowly he noticed a change in her demeanor. Her body relaxed, her posture became more confident and she even added a few flips to her routines, almost as if she were showing off. There was a brief time where they didn't meet because the Pontiff held a feast for a visiting Warlord from Carthus.

But the following week she returned. That night Vordt was free, so this time he left his armor and weapon behind in his room. He put on one of his nicer black tunics and tied his long silver hair back into a ponytail. His steel gray eyes had circles under them, but that was normal for him. Putting on his blue cloak emblazoned with the Outrider Knight's insignia he stepped out onto the street.

She was kneeling just like always when he arrived. He let himself be heard as he slowly approached, stopping just in the middle of the cathedral. Once again she tensed, but this time she didn't run. Vordt gave a courtly bow, "My Lady, forgive me for my forwardness. But, will you dance with me?" He spoke quietly but his voice carried far in the cavernous room.

To his surprise she nodded, her ornamental chains clinking against her helmet. She stood and returned his bow before assuming a stance. Vordt mirrored her and they both begun to move in unison. It was slow and steady, a subtle harmony could be seen as they twirled around one another. Together they danced to the music of the night, keeping time to the rhythm of their hearts. Vordt never felt happier, though dancing was far more strenuous than he realized. By the end he was breathing hard and sweat was beading on his forehead.

The Dancer remained as elegant and unphased as when they began. "My Lady, I thank you. Might I ask your name?" Vordt panted. At this her shoulders slumped and she remained quiet. She made a gesture for him to follow and he did as she exited the cathedral. Together they made their way under the stairs of the nearby walkway leading to the old cathedral. Here she stooped down and scratched something into a heap of snow.

I am Oriana. I cannot speak.

"Why is that?" Vordt asked. He got a sad sigh in reply. She looked around as if she didn't want to get caught before she timidly removed her helmet. He nearly gasped as he saw her face, her features were like the old gods. Her fair porcelain skin was framed by deep chestnut colored hair, tied up in a messy bun. Her eyes were amber and flecked with gold, and they held a warmth like sunlight. Gentle lines of age graced her youthful face, and the dark rings under her eyes told of her tiredness.

She was beautiful like a goddess from the time of Gwyn. Vordt's heart was fluttering in his chest as he stood speechless, but just as quickly his heart sunk into his boots. She opened her mouth to reveal her tongue had been cut out. She winced at his mortified expression before quickly putting her helmet back on. She became tense again as she began to look for a place to run.

"Oriana, I'm so sorry. I know not what monster did this to you, but I will kill them when I find them." Vordt said in a low voice as he tried to hide his anger. To his shock she shook her head, grabbing his wrist she pointed up at the cathedral. "The Pontiff? He did this to you?" Vordt asked in confusion. Oriana nodded slowly. "I see..." He replied. A deep sigh escaped his lips. "That was cruel, even for him."

Doing something that was unheard of even for him he took a knee before Oriana. "My Lady, I Vordt of the Boreal Valley. Outrider Knight and servant of the Pontiff, do solemnly swear to serve as your knight. Though I cannot protect you from the Pontiff, I shall offer whatever aid I can in other matters." Oriana gently reached down and took his hand with both of hers. A gentle warmth flowed into him at her touch.

He didn't have to see her face to know she was smiling.


End file.
